


Could Have Given Me Something

by zouisau



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:24:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouisau/pseuds/zouisau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's crashing on Louis' couch for a few days as he figures some stuff out. A very very loose homeless AU of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Have Given Me Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For dirtyhairlouis for the prompt "Homeless AU. One is homeless and the other helps them. Perhaps it's Christmas time to fit with the holiday theme. Fluff & smut & angst if you wish. Do with it what you will!" I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from the song "You, My Everything" by Ellie Goulding.
> 
> I don't own anything blah blah blah. Etc.

“He’ll only be staying for a few days, right? While he gets on his feet?” Louis asks, just reaffirming what Eleanor had told him about a week ago.

 

“Yes, of course.” She sounds distracted, her voice far off, and Louis is almost positive he’s been put on speaker. “Listen,” she sounds clearer know, he had definitely been on speaker. “Listen, Lou. Harry’s a friend from college, yeah? He’s just looking for a couch to crash on for a few days until he’s back on his feet. Promise.”

 

Louis trusted Eleanor; after all, he had no reason to distrust her.

 

Harry, this new character that Louis knew nothing of, well- he wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t because of anything that Eleanor had told him about Harry, anything he’d heard- it was precisely the opposite. Louis hadn’t _heard_ Harry ever mentioned, not even in passing. It was a bit concerning, however, he was ninety-nine percent positive that Eleanor would never suggest that some total stranger past-classmate of hers stay at Louis’ apartment but it was that one percent that was throwing Louis off. 

 

“Okay, fine. But only for a few days. Zayn’s coming back on Wednesday, so he has till then.”

 

“Don’t worry! I’m sure he’ll be out of your hair by Monday night, Tuesday morning at the latest!” Louis was sure that Eleanor was smiling wide on the other end. Brown eyes probably shining.

 

 

—

 

 

Harry had arrived Thursday afternoon. Louis had been in class, he’d left a note on the kitchen counter, a simple explanation of where he was and where Harry could put his stuff, and that there was food in the fridge and that he could help himself to anything except to Zayn’s beer because it was imported and expensive.

 

The flat was empty though. It was a small flat, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a living area attached to a kitchen. There’s art, comics, and various superhero memorabilia spread throughout the rooms. The only way that Louis knew that Harry had been there was that there was a suitcase in a corner and a jacket thrown over the arm of the single couch, other than that everything remained much like usual. Even the note was undisturbed, Louis doesn’t hesitate in crumpling it up.

 

Heading into the kitchen he throws it into the trash can as if he were playing a competitive game of basketball; the note hadn’t been too telling in how much food had been in the fridge, there were half-empty takeaway containers, a loaf of whole grain bread that had been sitting there for what felt like months but had probably only been about a week or so, Zayn’s imported beer, and three wrinkled oranges. 

 

Louis grabs one of the beers and stuck a container of Chinese takeaway in the microwave. 

 

He sits on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth, watching the takeaway container spin round and round. 

 

It’s Thursday afternoon, Christmas was a week away, and all his friends had gone home or were flying home sometime this weekend.

 

He thinks of Eleanor, probably celebrating the end of the term with some college friends. Wonders if that’s where Harry is at. 

 

His fingers hover over Eleanor’s name on his phone, wonders if he seems like he’s inviting himself over. 

 

“Hello, Lou?” It’s Eleanor’s voice, bright and joyful.

 

“Hey, El.” He hadn’t thought it through very thoroughly. 

 

“Was thinking of getting smashed tonight.” Louis says, smiling slightly.

 

“You should come with us! Max and Anne and I are done with exams and we’re celebrating. Come with, yeah? Ask Harry along as well!” 

 

“Harry’s not here,” Louis says.

 

“Well, you should still come! It’ll be fun, you’ll get properly smashed.” 

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

 

—

 

 

Louis would have asked Liam along, the only friend left behind that he’d actually ask to get smashed with, but Sophia, Liam’s girlfriend was leaving early the next morning and Louis was sure Sophia wouldn’t appreciate if Louis got her boyfriend drunk the day before he was driving her to the airport. Plus, it was their last day together until New Years Eve and Louiscould take a hint. 

 

Zayn was visiting his girlfriends parents before the holiday, and was still wavering between going home during Christmas; Niall was home, as was Stan. 

 

Eleanor though, Eleanor had followed through.

 

Louis had long ago lost track of time, they’d been going from bar to bar, somewhere along the way they’d lost Anne. Max and Eleanor were off dancing, Louis had found himself leaning against the bar, watching people blend into one another, watching the lights bounced and reflected and colored the scene. The music was thumping, vibrating within Louis.

 

He wasn’t sure how much he had to drink, but he felt weirdly steady, supported by the bar, as the room rippled.

 

“You alright, mate?” There was a stranger there, tall. The rest of the features danced and melted and were hidden in shadow.

 

“Fine, thank you.” Louis hears himself say. He wonders if the stranger was hitting on him, if he’d consider buying him a drink. “Buy me a drink?” Forward but gets the job done.

 

“Don’t know, mate. You’re really intoxicated. Don’t think you should have anymore.” He sounds sensible, just like Liam.

 

“Not your mate.” Louis slurred.

 

The other guy laughs, deep and unabashed. “I can help you home? Or get a friend, a taxi maybe?”

 

The idea was tempting. And perhaps it wasn’t his finest moment because Louis finds himself nodding. “Yeah, that’d be okay.”

 

 

—

 

He wakes with a pounding headache, with a single hand he reaches over to grab his phone, knowing full well that he should have let Eleanor or Max that he was leaving.

 

There were three missed calls, two from Eleanor and one from Max, all with voicemails. There were seven texts as well, the first few cursing Louis to hell, two from Liam (one describing Eleanor calling him, and one saying that he hoped he wasn’t too hangover and that Sophia was on her way to her holiday with her family, the last accompanied by a variety of emoticons) and the last, and most recent, text was a simple ‘Harry called me, you fucker.’ From El of course.

 

Louis rolls over groaning, there’s a cup of water and a small bottle of pills on the bed side table, but he’s letting his embarrassment simmer. He’d shown up drunk with Harry in the flat, granted he couldn’t remember Harry or the stranger, or anything past getting into a taxi with a disgruntled taxi driver and rattling off his address. 

 

After a bit, Louis reluctantly gets up, the room shifting a bit as he swallows some pills and takes a sip from the water.

 

Harry. Louis hadn’t even met him yet and he was sure the impression he’d had was less than thrilling. 

 

He couldn't keep postponing it, though. Knew he had to go out and apologize, the sooner the better. He groaned as he looked at himself on the mirrored closet doors. He looked rumpled, and beat down. His hair was a mess, the kind that celebrities spent hours trying to attain, but unfortunately only half was in an artful disarray, the other half was flat against his skull. There were heavy bags under his eyes, the skin around it a light eggplant color, looking like he’d gotten in a fight and then spent the night twisting and turning trying to fall asleep. His clothes stuck to his body and his skin was covered in a light layer of sweat.

 

Simply put, the night had not gone easy on him.

 

He drowned the rest of his water in three quick gulps and ran a quick hand through his hair, to no avail. He didn’t bother showering, would rather apologize to Harry and then crawl back into bed and sleep through Christmas. He pulled on a pair of running bottoms, loose fitting and tight at the ankle, before slipping through his door quietly and heading down the short hallway to the main living area, knowing Harry would be there.

 

“How are you feeling?” 

 

There’s a tall, awkwardly limbed boy seated on Louis couch. Brown curls pulled back tightly in a bun, and a loose white t-shirt covering his torso. He’s wearing black pants and black socks and is sitting watching some program and eating a bowl of cereal.

 

“I’m alright. Nice to finally meet you.” Both were lies. Well, partially. It was nice to meet Harry, under the present circumstances, however, meeting was not-so-nice. 

 

“Great to hear,” Harry smiles knowingly. There was orange juice in his cereal. “You were properly fucked yesterday.” 

 

“There’s orange juice in your cereal.” 

 

Harry looks down, nods once. “There was no milk.”

 

“Oh.” Louis wants to crawl back into bed. 

 

“You sure you’re okay? I can get you food, or a glass of water, or something?” Harry speaks slow, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s because of how badly he actually looks, his current state and yesterday’s performance probably alluding to the fact that he is still very hangover, or if his voice is slow and that’s just an everyday occurrence for Harry.

 

“I’m okay.” Louis repeats. “Just wanted to apologize. Feel terrible. Must have made a terrible first impression.” 

 

“Couldn’t have made a terrible first impression if you tried mate. Letting me stay here, and all. Way too nice.” Harry speaks before taking a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

 

Well, not necessarily true. It wasn’t like Louis was jumping at the chance of hosting one of Eleanor’s old classmates, friends, whatever. He’d more or less been pushed by El, and because Eleanor had known Zayn was going to be out of town there had really been no reason for Louis to refuse (other than the obvious and classic I don’t actually know this guy excuse).

 

“Plus,” Harry goes on, swallowing his cereal with orange juice. Louis briefly wonders if that tastes good. “As I said, you were smashed last night. Knew it right away, didn’t even hesitate to bring me here, me a total stranger from some dingy bar. That could have gone terribly wrong.”

 

It might take more than a few seconds for everything to click for Louis. 

 

Harry… Harry was the stranger from the bar. Harry had brought him home.

 

Fuck.

 

“I am really, very sorry.”

 

Harry laughs a bit, slurping some cereal. “No need to be sorry, mate. You’re alright, or better now at least, right? Didn’t even throw up at all last night, always a bonus.” He sounds genuinely concerned while still poking fun. 

 

Louis gives Harry a small smile. Harry’s trying, truly tying. He’s being nice and brushing it off. For that, Louis is thankful.

 

 

—

 

 

Harry’s nice. Louis wakes up a few hours later, after having crawled into bed, eyes still filled with sleep, and his head hazy with fading dreams, stumbling into the kitchen where the aromas of food are simmering, filling the entire apartment with a blanket of warmth. 

 

“You made dinner?” It’s dark out, and Louis’ stove top has little green numbers blinking back saying it’s just past seven. Louis definitely feels like he’s awakening from a year long nap, and the hours he spent sleeping are telling of why. He had slept through most of the day.

 

“Thought you might be hungry when you woke up.” Harry answers simply. He’s wearing tight black jeans, the same loose t-shirt from before, and his feet are bare, his toes curling into the tile, as if he isn’t sure if he should have cooked something.

 

“Thank you,” Louis says. And then because his stomach is grumbling, he asks, “What did you make?” After all there was hardly anything in his fridge and he can’t imagine his cabinets had been much fuller. 

 

“Just a stew. Didn’t have much to work with.” Harry answers simply.

 

Louis blushes, Harry’s tone wasn’t accusing, just stating the simple fact, but it makes him shift uncomfortably. He really should have prepared more for Harry’s coming.

 

“Can I help with anything?” Louis asks, feeling a bit out of sorts in his own kitchen.

 

“Don’t think so. Maybe get some bowls out? It’s almost ready.” Harry states, giving Louis a smile. “How are you feeling by the way? Got enough sleep?”

 

“Yeah, feeling hundred percent better.” Louis mutters, he’s still feeling a bit embarrassed about the previous night. Doesn’t want Harry to think that it’s something that’s a regular occurrence, well, it sorta is- him getting drunk- but still. 

 

“That’s great.” Harry smiles genuinely, his speech is still slower than anyone else Louis knows. Harry takes a bowl that Louis had gotten from a cabinet and fills it up with a thick stew. “Here you are.” He hands the steaming bowl to Louis, and Louis heads to the little table in the corner. 

 

He takes a spoonful of the thick soup. It’s good; Louis is sure he would never have been able to make something as delicious as that all by himself and especially not with the limited ingredients that he’s sure were in his cabinets. He truly can’t remember the last time either him or Zayn cooked up something as hearty and good as Harry’s stew. 

 

“Good?” Harry asks, taking a seat in the chair opposite of Louis with his own bowl.

 

“Perfect.” Louis says.

 

It’s not until after they eat, that the silence gets to Louis. “So,” he starts carefully. “How do you know Eleanor again?”

 

“School.” Harry replies, he’s fuzzing about, putting the leftover stew in a container to stick into the refrigerator. 

 

Louis is doing the dishes, something he’d usually avoid, would rather eat from containers and napkins than wash dishes; but Harry’s a guest and Louis has at least some manners.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, but why are you in London again?”

 

“Stop between destinations, of sorts.” Harry answers good-naturedly, giving Louis a toothy grin, revealing a dimple. 

 

“Of sorts.” Louis says, it sounds a bit sarcastic, a bit mocking. “Sorry, didn’t mean-”

 

But Harry’s laughing, waving Louis’ forming apology off. “It’s just, needed to get away from home for a bit, you know?”

 

“It’s the holidays.” Louis says. He was still debating getting a train up to Doncaster, wasn’t sure how he’d afford it or even swing it because of work, but he was still hoping. Nothing wrong with that.

 

Harry shrugs. “Love my family, but Holmes Chapel- it was suffocating me.”

 

Louis shrugs a bit, not sure how to answer what Harry’s telling him. 

 

Harry goes on, “Needed something a bit bigger. Thought I’d come down and crash at my friend Ed’s place, surprise him and all, but he’s in Ireland with family- for the holidays. Said his roommate was flying back to London from a stay in Greece and then taking the train to some village East. That’s Monday morning, I’ll be out of your hair then. I’m staying at Ed’s for a few weeks. Figuring things out.” 

 

He makes it sounds so uncomplicated, Louis isn’t sure he’d ever do what Harry’s doing. Pack up and leave his family behind, with not even a definite place to stay. Moving to London had been so hard for him, he’d never do it on a whim like Harry had.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that- like I couldn’t wait for you to leave.” Louis is quick to apologize for whatever Harry might have thought he had meant.

 

“I know,” Harry’s smiling happily. “You know, Ed’s roommate, Greg, was in Greece as I said. And I was thinking, how easy it would be to just pack up and leave. Just take some time and figure stuff out. Figure what I wanna do and who I wanna be. Eleanor’s in school, and Max’s in school, and some friends from home are in school- all getting degrees in Business or Law or whatever is the most secure. But I want to do _more_. I want to experience life first before I settle into something. I want to meet people and see places. Needed to get out, _need_ to get out.”

 

It’s the most Louis had heard Harry say. The fastest he’s heard him talk, still slow as molasses, but flowing quicker than usual, passionate.

 

“I’m sure Greece is beautiful.” Is all Louis can say.

 

 

—

 

 

It’s Sunday night when things turn. It’s Harry’s last night, he’d told Louis that morning over homemade french toast with blueberry-flavored syrup. “Greg’s flying in tomorrow morning, should probably pack up tonight.”

 

Louis chews slowly, savoring the soft bread, the sweetness of the syrup. “Okay.” He likes Harry, likes his company and how genuine he is. Thinks that maybe he’ll miss him.

 

“I bought some stuff, thought we could celebrate our last night? Watch a film or something?” Harry’s ‘stuff’ was a bottle of rum. 

 

That’s how they’d ended up laying on the couch, glasses of rum and coke on the table. Louis had lost track of how many he’d had, and while the last time he’d gotten significantly drunk hadn’t been his most golden moment, the film was absolute shit, plus Harry was just as drunk as he was. It was okay.

 

Harry, Louis was discovering, was very tactile. At the start of the film, his legs had been stuck under Louis thighs, ‘for warmth’ which if honest it wasn’t much different than usual, the way he had said it- with a sly grin- showed that he knew this was common. But now he was basically seated halfway on Louis lap, his legs tucked under himself and his entire body curled into Louis side, he was a good few inches taller than Louis and definitely broader, still clinging to some baby fat, but somehow he’d managed to make himself as small as possible, fitting himself perfectly to Louis’ side. 

 

It was endearing.

 

But the alcohol was having it’s effects on Louis, and evidently on Harry as well. He’d started peppering kisses on Louis’ exposed skin, on his upper arms, and by his collar bones. His lips were soft, there was barely the ghost of the press on Louis’ skin. Still, Louis felt something rise inside him, a longing for the boy that was attaching himself to him.

 

A longing for the boy that was leaving.

 

 

—

 

 

“I really don’t mind.” Louis says for what feels like the hundredth time. They’re really late.

 

They were supposed to get out of bed about an hour ago, but the sky outside was dreary, and the bed had been so warm. They were still mostly naked, Louis had pulled on pants sometime during the night. They’d laid in bed for about an hour, arguing about Louis driving Harry to the airport and then to his friends flat. Harry had argued for a taxi, Louis had argued that it would be an unneeded expense. Even though they were cutting it short, they were still laying in bed, limbs intertwined, happily absorbing each other’s body heat. 

 

“Thank you,” Harry said, finally untangling himself. “For last night, and for driving me and everything.” 

 

“Of course.” Louis watched as Harry pulls on a pair of pants (a pair Louis was sure were actually his, but really who cares), and then pulling the ridiculous patterned shirt that he’d laid out the day before, leaving most of it unbuttoned. 

 

Louis rolls out of bed, his hair looked, well, slept-on, but he figures running a few fingersthrough it would have to do. He doesn’t bother with looking at least semi-presentable, pulling on a pair of joggers that scrunch at the ankle, and an old pair of sneakers with no socks.

 

 

—

 

 

The airport was crowded, as always, especially considering it was the holidays. Harry had made a small sign with Greg’s name on it; ‘just in case he doesn't remember us’ he’d said.

 

It was obvious who Greg was, he’d beelined straight to the pair as soon as they were in sight of one another. A tall man, dark haired man. He was carrying a single duffel bag over his shoulder. It wasn’t long until they were back on the road, they’d cut it pretty close and hadn’t had to wait long. The traffic wasn’t too bad, not worse than usual. 

 

They arrived at Greg’s and Ed’s shared flat in no time. It was small, smaller than Zayn’s and Louis’, but it was neat and tidy. There was books everywhere, not comics, just thick hardcover volumes and papers with highlighters as if at any time either Ed or Greg would bounce through the door and get straight to studying, there was also various sound equipment throughout the main room. There was a large TV covering most of the only window in the living room/kitchen area, a tall plant adding a bit of livelihood to the whole place.

 

Harry set down his suitcase as did Greg, and Louis lingered around the door awkwardly. The car ride had been mostly Greg recalling his time in Greece, asking Harry how he was, Harry nodding and smiling and laughing, eyes bright.

 

“I should probably head out.” He wasn’t sure if he was waiting for Harry to protest.

 

“Oh, alright.” Harry turns around, facing Louis. He had terrible posture, feet turned towards one another, and shoulders hunched inwards. He looked slightly crestfallen, but there was still a certain shine to his eyes.

 

Greg had wandered into the kitchen, and called out. “You sure? Can’t interest you in a beer or something?”

 

“I’m sure you need some rest. Imagine you’d be a bit jet lag at least.” Louis calls, shrugging when he meets Harry’s watchful gaze. “Thanks though,” he calls out, looking away from Harry’s dark green eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he should do or say something else.

 

“I guess I’ll see you later, maybe?” Harry asks.

 

“At another bar? Perhaps when I’m so drunk I can hardly stand and you can take me back to my flat and tuck me in?”

 

“Perhaps.” Harry says in between laughs. “Seriously, Louis. Thank you.”

 

“Anytime.” He says, smiling. 

 

Louis turns, about to go out when Harry calls, “Louis?”

 

He’s not sure if this is what he was waiting for. For Harry to ask him to maybe possibly stick around and then….then what? But he has no moments to fully consider Harry, because Harry’s kissing him- a short sweet peck. “Thank you.” He breathes softly against his lips.

 

 

—

 

 

It’s slow at first. Harry texts Louis a simple thanks again, and Louis responds with a smiley face. Then Harry asks something or other about something he thought he might have left behind, and then shows up on Tuesday afternoon to collect whatever and they spend most of the day lounging around and eating cold pizza.

 

It’s nice.

 

They end up on Louis’ bed again, half naked. Harry’s seated on Louis, grinding down desperately as Louis tries to slow him down, grabbing his hips and holding him up a bit.

 

“Please. Please, please, please.” Harry, although bigger, doesn’t fight against Louis, lets him slow him down.

 

“It’s okay, love. Slow down.” Louis mumbles kissing Harry’s overheated skin. 

 

“Need you,” Harry mumbles, wrapping his arms around Louis and bringing him closer.

 

 

—

 

 

It feels routine. Like a repeat of days before.

 

They find themselves spending the days following together. Harry has Greg’s key to his flat, but he’s spending most of his time in Louis’ home. Lazing around, and cooking food, and sleeping with Louis. 

 

It feels familiar.

 

Zayn comes and goes, saying nothing but giving knowing looks through raised eyebrows and half-hidden smirks. He’s happy for Louis, Louis knows. 

 

Christmas finds the three of them seated around the small table in Greg’s and Ed’s flat. Louis had protested, told Harry they could lounge around and order takeaway and watch the Batman movies (not much different than what Zayn and Louis did every other weekend, and to be fair not much different than what Harry and Louis had been doing the last few days). But Harry had insisted on cooking a traditional Christmas meal. He had gone all out, setting the table and lighting candles and bringing out a bottle of wine.

 

“So, are Greg and Ed coming back for New Year’s?” Zayn asks, cutting up a piece of turkey. 

 

“Yeah, yes.” Harry says, swallowing his food. “I talked to Ed about two days ago. Says he’s flying in on the twenty-seventh.” 

 

“And after?” Zayn asks.

 

Louis pauses. He’s not sure if Zayn is doing this on purpose, pushing him to confront and define whatever is going on. Or if Zayn really is just obtuse, and trying to make a bit of light conversation. 

 

He waits though, waiting for Harry to respond.

 

“I guess. I mean, the whole reason I came here was to get out of Holmes Chapel.” Harry shrugs. “I accomplished that.”

 

“What about Greece?” Louis asks, and now he’s pushing it. 

 

“What about Greece?” He’s playing dumb. 

 

Zayn’s quiet, digs into his food.

 

“You still planning on going?” Louis asks, his tone is serene, conversational. He isn’t sure if Harry’s picking up on the undertones, on how much his answer matters.

 

“Maybe.”

 

And that’s that.

 

 

—

 

 

Something’s off after that, Harry doesn’t text and Louis doesn’t call. 

 

It’s not until two days later that Zayn pushes Louis to call Harry, that there’s any contact. He’d been moping about apparently. Harry answers on the first ring.

 

“Hey! Louis! I was just about to call you!” He’s rushing his words a bit, jumbling them so that they’re meshed together. The fact that they haven't spoken in two days after spending almost every wakeful hour together rejects that he was about to call, but his quick answering definitely makes it a possibility.

 

“Hi Harry. You were, uh, saying?” Which. He was supposed to be confronting this. He was supposed to be asking Harry on a date. Supposed to ask him what about Greece. Supposed to ask him if this- whatever this may be- was going anywhere. Asking where they stood.

 

“I was about to call you, Lou!”

 

“Is everything alright?” The background is noisier than usual.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m at the airport. Picking Ed up. I mean,” Harry sounds slightly breathless. “I mean, I already picked him up. We’re waiting for his bags.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Louis, it’s Ed. He’s thinking of touring with some band from Ireland. Greg can’t afford theflat by himself.”

 

“Oh, does that mean? You’re staying there permanently?” Despite himself his heart soars a bit. Harry permanently sticking around, or even just semi-permanetly, just sticking around for a while longer until Louis can figure himself and them out. It’s been too quick.

 

“I was thinking it. It’s a possibility. But Greg, he had already alluded to moving to Leeds with some girl. Chasing a job or love or whatever bullshit.” There’s a new voice, clear and close, and Louis figures it’s Ed.

 

“So?” He can feel his heart dropping. Knows Harry isn’t sticking around, Harry isn’t and wasn’t his. Would never be his love, or ‘whatever bullshit’. Still, part of him hopes it’ll turn around, that there’s a twist.

 

There isn’t.

 

“I think this is the perfect opportunity for me to go somewhere.”

 

“Greece?”

 

“I considered it. But there’s this group in Eleanor’s university, they do a spring semester program in New Zealand, camp around or whatever. Not exactly what I had dreamed, but manageable.” 

 

An adventure.

 

“I talked to my mum about it.” Harry goes on, he doesn’t wait for Louis’ response, rushing through his thoughts. “She wants me to go for it. Helped me talk to the dean and arrange everything. I’m in, Louis. I’m going to New Zealand.”

 

“That’s way farther than Greece.” He mumbles.

 

“And then I’m studying here in London, business I think.”

 

_Business or Law or whatever is the most secure._

 

“Oh, that’s great Harry.” He tries to make his tone mask the storm inside of him. 

 

“Isn’t it, Lou. Hold on, Ed.” He sounds slightly distracted. “What were you gonna say anyway? You called me?”

 

Nothing now. “Forget it, wasn’t that important. Sorry I haven’t called in a while.”

 

“Hm.” Harry says, he stills sounds partially distracted.

 

Louis’ insides are already in fire, crumbling into each other like a fallen country. “Actually I was calling to ask if you wanted to go to dinner? Let’s celebrate your upcoming journey?”

 

“Really?” Harry asks, he sounds hopeful. “I’d do today, but Ed just got here and I promised we’d go out for burgers. Tomorrow work though?”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

 

—

 

 

Dinner with Harry is nice, but then again everything with Harry is nice.

 

They haven’t said much, well no. Not true. Louis hasn’t said much, instead opting to sit and pick at his food and listen to whatever Harry decides to ramble on about.

 

Most of his conversation topics relate back to New Zealand, relate to him leaving and finding himself and being happy and away from Holmes Chapel.

 

It makes Louis feel a bit futile. 

 

“Well, to you, then.” He says, pushing back his own feelings and raising his glass. “To Harry Edward Styles, and to New Zealand, and to growing up.”

 

“Growing up,” Harry says, laughing and raising his own glass before drinking the white wine. They’re silent for a bit, relishing the food and the atmosphere and in future prospects. “What about you, Louis?”

 

“What about me?” He takes a sip of wine. Harry’s staring at him, as if he were made of glass, looking right through him, into him.

 

“What are you planning to do? It’s the New Year’s soon.”

 

“Don’t know yet. Life is filled with possibilities.”

 

“Let me rephrase it then, what do you wanna do then?” He’s leaning forward on his elbows, which really is bad manners but Louis doesn’t bother with pointing it out; Harry’s watching Louis carefully, closely.

 

“Maybe I’ll have a kid. Maybe I’ll get married. Maybe I’ll move. Maybe I’ll adopt a dog, although I doubt it because my landlord doesn’t allow pets. Maybe I’ll go to the states, go to some weird state and keep a journal.” He shrugs good-naturedly, blowing the question off. He can’t imagine ever doing any of those things, not in a million years. Not yet, at least. “Probably though, I’m gonna keep looking for a better job, keep living with Zayn, get smashed and have not-so-random strangers take me home.”

 

“Probably,” Harry laughs happily. “Imagine me coming back and finding you fell in love with some strangerand are living happily ever after. I think that’s coming. This year. Love’s in the air.”

 

“You’re full of shit, Harry.”

 

Harry just smiles dopily. “Maybe.”

 

“Maybe.” 

 

They grin at each other for a few seconds, it feels alright. Louis knows its alright. 

 

“A final toast then.” Harry says, raising his glass. It’s entirely possible they’ve both had way too much wine. “To love, and happiness, and everything else.”

 

Louis raises his own glass, mimicking Harry before taking a swig of his own wine, “To love, to happiness, and to all the other bullshit.”

 

 


End file.
